Steam
by EveryGirlYouKnow
Summary: The quintessential cave scene. We all know Katniss and Peeta... um, frolicked together. Was supposed to be a one-shot, but it's rated M for a reason, you pansies!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Oh my gosh! Oh my goodness! I'm back! Maybe it's because I have a thing for cave-sex... Okay, no really, I don't, but I couldn't help myself with this one, it was just asking to be written. Get your hand out of your pants; the sexy stuff hasn't even begun! Sooooo... I went to college and got a boyfriend and a life and stopped writing fanfiction. But, as they say, once a pervert, always a pervert. But I leveled up. Now I'm a covert-pervert. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Pervert. I just do my creepin' at frat parties now. But anyway, I have a whole pile of chapters already written for my other fic, I'm just too lazy to post them. So if any of you stuck around to read this whole AN (kudos!), you can PM me or something and beg me to put them up. Okay, you can put your hand back in your pants, now.**

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><p>It isn't until after I pick up the breadcrumbs with my moistened finger that I feel like dinner is finally over. I lick them off before stacking the plates back into the picnic basket.<p>

"You know, we could wash those and use them tomorrow," says Peeta, pointing at the dirty dishes and then at a spout of water gushing through the cave ceiling.

I laugh and slide the basket toward him with my foot, "How about you wash them, Mrs. Mellark?" I lean back, smiling; no one but Peeta could be so domestic in this situation. I reach my hands out for the water and am surprised by how warm it is. The contrast with the frigid stone hints at game-maker interference. Crawling to the edge of the cave, I stick my torso out into the rain. The water fills my cupped hand and I splash it onto my face. The feeling of grubbiness is washed away with the layers of dirt and sweat on my body. I push off my shoes and socks before making my way out into the mud. Peeling off my torn and burnt jacket, I lay it out on the branches of a nearby tree. The rain falls so heavily that I feel confident that the Capitol's cameras will be sufficiently obscured. I wash out my mouth, untie my braid and run my fingers though my hair. Soon I am drenched and my tank top sticks to my body. I secretly thank Cinna; my last defense is the tight, comfortable sports bra that he included in my ensemble. I practically hear Haymitch's voice in my mind... the warm shower is nothing less than a down payment.

_I lie on my side at the mouth of the cave, watching her. She's standing there, arms at her sides and her face up to the sky. Suddenly she pulls off her camisole, setting it on a branch. Left in only a bra and panties, I can almost hear her sighing; her modesty was trumped by a need to be clean. Through the thick wall of rain I watch her stomp back over to the cave and crawl in next to me._

_"Your turn," she says, and although my body is registering the half-naked girl next to me, I slide outside. "... Now let's see if this basket came with warm pajamas."_

_The strangely warm rain soothes my aching shoulders, but I waste no time in pulling off my shirt. I use it to scrub all the extra riverbed muck that Katniss wasn't able, or willing, to rinse off me the other day. I walk to the side of the cave and lean against a rock near the opening while I slowly ease my pants over my injured leg. The pain and swelling are down considerably but it's now clear that Cato's knife sliced only inches from my femoral artery. I marvel at the ability of the medicine to not only expel the blood poisoning, but also encourage the wound to heal._

_"Hey, what's taking so long?" Katniss' voice echoes from the cave._

_"Hold on," I yell back over the rain. "I'm butt-naked. Give me a second."_

_"You're what?" She calls out. "Where are you?" Her head pops out of the cave and whips around, looking for me._

_"Here," I say and she shrieks, not expecting me to be so close. Her face turns beet red when she realizes that I'm naked except the t-shirt I hold in front of my crotch._

_"Oh my gosh," she backs into the cave, uttering a string of apologies and a few choice curse words, bumping her head on the way in. It's all I can do not to laugh; instead I pull my now-clean boxers back on and follow her in._

I can't tell how much, or if any, of Haymitch's message is clear to Peeta, but the steam that is rising from the cold stone is embarrassingly... explicit to me. The glimpse of his nearly naked body remains fresh in my mind, and I'm finding it hard to concentrate. It's a veritable sauna when he appears, obscuring the beams of moonlight that play off the moist air. Admitting it to myself is hard, but the cool rocks I lay against are soothing and this is the first time since the Reaping that I've experienced any semblance of relaxation.

Of course, this can't last long, because I am acutely aware of Peeta, stretching out across from me. I remain on the ground but roll onto my side, rubbing my head where it hit the rock. Suddenly nervous, the same feeling from when we kissed before washes over me. I try not to over think my actions when I lean over and kiss him lightly, just on the side of his mouth. The feeling increases, and this time when I kiss him he kisses me back. His lips follow mine as I sit up and crawl onto his lap, straddling him. I run my hands down his chest and find myself surprised. Lying in the riverbank, he was so pale and dirty and sick that I hardly noticed how soft his skin was, or how firm the muscles underneath were. Waves of warm steam create droplets on our skin but I still feel chilled. I stop kissing him, worried because his hands remain on my waist. I thought this is what he wanted...

_She stops kissing me and her eyebrows knit together. Oh my gosh, she noticed my boner. I had been thinking about the way she had crawled across the cave floor on her hands and knees, the way her mouth looked as she sucked breadcrumbs off her fingers, and the way her lips felt as they were up against mine moments ago..._

_"Are you okay with this?" I whisper, referring to a great many things I can't get into words, but primarily my hard-on._

_She bites down on her lip, causing it to flush red, and nods. I realize she's waiting for me and I bring my face to hers. Before, I had let her set the pace, not wanting to push the limits especially with the cameras. Now I let my hands wander. Suddenly I am wondering how much of this territory has already been explored by Gale, but the idea of them together raises so many questions that I block it out. I let my hands drop to her butt. The Hunger Games contestants have never really been known for their ethics, anyway._

His hands slide down to my hips, pulling me closer so that I unintentionally grind into him. He moans, rocking my body as his hands slide up and stop just at the edge of my bra. As if on cue another wave of steam rolls in, theatrically obscuring us. His skin glows in the moonlight. I roll my hips again, savoring the feeling of his hardness. He rolls me over so that he's on top and I groan, having been enjoying being in control. Planting kisses down my neck, he runs his hand up my thigh and presses his fingers in between my legs. Even through my panties this is too much and a moan escapes my mouth. I press my hips into it, but then he stops and I feel him break the kiss, smiling.

"I never expected you to be so amorous," he says softly and I realize how turned on I am by the idea of him _expecting_ me to be anything.

"Shut up," I whisper against his mouth as I kiss him.

_My hands explore the anomalies of her body as we kiss. Her soft, muscular legs contrast with her collarbones, prominent after a life of being underfed. Her skin smells sweet like tree sap, probably from those nights alone in the canopy, and it reminds me of how fortunate I am to be with her now. The sound of her sigh when I touch the wet spot in her panties is heaven to me, and it's ecstasy when she calls out in frustration because I stopped. I lift her wet hair off her neck and kiss it, but she's pulling my hand back down between her legs._

_"If you want," I whisper against her neck, "we can go further."_

_She nods and allows me to pull her bra over her head. I had assumed- because of this bra, years of seeing her dressed rather conservatively, and living a hungry life in the Seam- that she'd be flat-chested, but when my hands finds her breasts I am surprised by how full and round they are. In a moment of selfishness I lean down and take her nipple in my mouth, noticing again the scent of the forest on her warm, damp skin. Suddenly her hand is on my crotch and she's stroking me. I moan._

My hand goes to the tent in his boxers and his face breaks from my chest as he moans. I have my other hand in his soft blond hair and he's kissing my breast when I push his underwear down with my feet. Peeta's nose traces between my boobs and again he is kissing me... his hips are now against mine and I writhe underneath him. My legs are around his muscular torso and I pull him against me, very aware of how hard he is. As our bodies collide I buck my hips, aching underneath my thin panties. He easily finishes removing his boxers, then turns his attention to the remaining article of clothing between us. He tugs my panties down with one hand and a shiver travels up my body. Even though we are hidden by the steam, I shield myself with my hand.

_"You know, that's sort of my job," I place my own hand on top of hers, putting pressure on her fingers so they slide in. Her eyes close and she moans, arching her back and letting me take over. Wetness covers my fingers as I press one, and then another into her opening. My groin begins to throb to the rhythm of her ragged breathing. I lower myself to my elbow so Katniss' slender frame is entirely pinned under my own._

My back arches again instinctively, reveling in the feeling of his warm hand between my legs. I'm grateful when he positions himself directly above me; his powerful body obscures mine from view and the feeling of my breasts yielding to his firm frame turns me on. I feel his breath in my ear.

"You're sure?" he murmurs, his voice gravelly. I nod and he kisses my neck before gently biting down on my earlobe and pressing into me.

_Katniss cries out and I hold still, letting her stretch around me. I push her damp hair off her forehead, trying to read her expression. Pain, anxiety, ecstasy? I suddenly realize that, until moments ago, she was a virgin. A feeling of chagrin washes over me, knowing that I just deflowered a girl on national television. But then her shoulders are relaxing and she looks up into my eyes. I take that as a sign to continue, and begin moving slowly within her._

_Soon we are moving in tandem, our voices quite literally drowned out by the storm still raging outside. I press into her again and again, trying to memorize the feeling of her body as it rocks against mine. The beginnings of words begin to form in her mouth. Impatient gasps are mixed with my name and her hands are everywhere. In my hair. On my chest. Her nails rake down my back._

_Pressure builds within me and she cries out, clearly almost at the point of ecstasy. She lifts her hips, allowing me to go deeper than ever and I wrap my arm around her, holding us together._

His strong arms lift me, his warm hand on my butt. I feel myself tightening around his shaft and I am overcome with a wave after wave of pleasure. I wrap my arms around him, pressing my face against his neck as I choke out his name. It echoes through the cave, accompanied by his voice as he reaches his peak, too.

I feel his warm body relax, and the weight of it on top of me is comforting. Breathing heavily, we lie there for a few moments before he rolls off of me. The steam is gone by now, blown out the door who-knows-when, and I cover myself with my arms. The cold, hard ground is no longer soothing and the rain is quickly cooling off. I sit up and splash some on my face while taking stock of the situation.

I'm just beginning to miss the feeling of his body when Peeta wraps his arms around me from behind, kissing my neck. "Are you okay?" He quietly whispers into my hair. I know that this isn't meant for the sponsors or audience or even for my mother's sake, and I nod. Without another thought of the Capitol, we crawl into the sleeping bag and I curl myself against Peeta. Wrapped in his arms I quickly fall asleep, protected for at least a little while by the relentless rain.

Off in the distance, or maybe just in a dream, a canon booms.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Okay, so recently I've been trying to figure out why I hate Josh Hutcherson so much. I have looked at so many pictures of this kid that I'm forgetting what my own boyfriend looks like. At first I thought it might be because he just has <strong>_**so much face.**_** Like, Batman Big-Jaw Syndrome or something. It's just asking to be punched. Maybe it is his white-gangster attitude, too-cool-for-thou presence. His height (or lack thereof)? His penchant for henna tattoos? His starring role in **_**Journey to the Center of the Earth**_**, the most cringe-inducing, kitten-punching action flick of our generation? The fact that he beat out Evan Peters for the role of Peeta? Nope, none of these things. I'm thinking it's probably because he is still a childstar in my eyes, despite the fact that he's only eight months younger than me. I have a policy of not hating on childstars. So for now, Mr. Hutcherson, I will refrain from hating on you.**

**That being said, I can't imagine what kind of face he pulls when he has an orgasm... hence why I was looking at pictures. I feel like Brendan Fraser, his compatriot from JttCotE, probably just screams when he orgasms. Or, like, howls, I don't know. _George of the Jungle_**** fucked up my childhood. None of you are reading this author's note, anyway.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Okay, so right now my face is melting off because your reviews were so, so, **_**so**_** nice! Though, admittedly, all of them are about the AN. I want to make a shout-out to all of you readers, because I feel like now I am best-friends with you (yes, you!), in the creepiest possible way. So as thanks, I wrote another chapter (but no soul-corrupting smut in this chapter... next one for sure!). Just FYI, this was**_** supposed**_** to be a one-shot, so if you guys want me to keep writing you'll have to keep reviewing. It's like crack. Feed my addiction.**

**This picks up on the Victory Tour. They're travelling by train and trains run on _steam_... So sue me, I was too lazy to write a new one.**

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><p>I close my eyes and try to imagine that the noise from the banquet is just the sound of rustling leaves in a forest, but quickly I realize how stupid that is. I open my eyes to the crowded ballroom, full of the rich natives of District Four and visiting Capitol citizens. They all seem like they're having fun, but no one approaches me. After a brief and banal conversation with Venia about how various minor celebrities are dressed, I walk to the edge of the room and stand awkwardly between two buffet tables, eating appetizers even though I am more than full. I know why they won't talk to me; even after years of welcoming home their own victors, I am nothing more than a murderer to them. The footage of the games doesn't do me any favors; in fact, my involvement in their girl tribute's death was represented with crystalline clarity. I tap my feet but don't try to look too busy. I'm not fooling anyone.<p>

From across the room I see Peeta dancing with his stylist Portia and a wave of tenderness washes over me. It doesn't surprise me that he can dance, but I do wonder where he learned it. He leads her in a slow waltz, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. He is clearly making some effort not to wreck her colossal hairdo and, in spite of myself, I let out a little laugh. As if he could hear me from across the room full of lively partygoers, he looks up. For the brief second that we make eye contact, I discern sadness and resignation in his expression, and something else. Longing, maybe. I look away and pop another piece of food in my mouth. It would be wrong to say that he's been ignoring me since our return to District Twelve, but our conversations are always brief and trivial. He might be angry with me, or think I'm pathetic, or both these things and more. But, as always, it's nearly impossible to see beyond the easy-going façade of his.

Haymitch, already wasted, ambles over to me and places a drink in my hand and one arm over my shoulder. Although we speak often, being neighbors hasn't blossomed into a friendship. I sip my drink- something sour and pink- and listen to him bitch about Effie for a minute. I don't really want to talk to him right now, but since I was just meditating on my own situation and don't want to be a hypocrite, I let him continue. Suddenly the conversation has switched to Peeta, and I begin listening in earnest.

"Sweetheart, Sweetheart, listen to me: you're drivin' Peeta insane," I raise my eyebrows, trying to follow. "Loverboy is still not over you, and all this moping crap has got to stop."

I address the easiest point first. "What moping crap? I spend my time with a twelve year old and a cat."

"This moping crap." He waves his arm in front of me. "It's your Victory Tour, enjoy it. It's hard enough for him to keep up the act for both of you, and even harder for me. He hasn't shut up all night."

"Hmm, that sounds like someone I know."

"Enough," he barks. It's times like these when I realize how much older he is than me. "I was just trying to cheer you up." He grabs a passing waitress by the arm and takes the two drinks on her tray. Her mouth opens as if to protest, but it shuts quickly. With a wild look in her eyes she rushes back into the kitchen to get replacements.

"Haymitch! She might get in trouble for that!"

"She's an avox; she's used to being in trouble," he grunts.

Exasperated, I tip the clear drink down my throat, emptying the glass. It burns and I cough a little, tears swelling in my eyes. "Unlike you, the rest of us live with rules and consequences, Haymitch. For instance, you didn't even think about what kind of situation you were putting us in with your little scene in the cave." Although this is the first time I've picked a fight about this, I immediately know I'm in trouble. Just as I slam my glass down on the buffet, he grabs me by the shoulder and shoves me against the wall.

"I saved your life, and without me neither of you would have made Hunger Games history," he growls, his face an inch from my own. He's so drunk that his speech is punctuated with droplets of saliva. "So, if you'll stop biting the hand that feeds you," I flinch as his grip on my shoulder tightens, "maybe we can salvage some district support." I regret having that drink; the tears are threatening to overflow and I don't want to look weak in front of Haymitch. He turns his head and sees Peeta striding over, leaving a confused Portia alone on the dance floor. He turns back quickly to me. "And, by the way, Sweetheart, let's have a chat with Cinna about this outfit of yours. You look a little too much like the spoiled child you really are." He pinches my cheek and marches off. Peeta halts, not sure which of us to seek out first, and with a fleeting glance my way he veers off course to follow Haymitch out a side door.

Fuming and flustered, I give the empty glass back to the avox girl who reappeared once Haymitch had exited. She nods sympathetically and hands me a blue cocktail napkin that I use to wipe my eyes. Trying to convince myself that the tears were really just from the drink, I wander to the ladies' room. Of course, my night just can't go well, and I encounter Effie. She's perched on the edge of a shell-shaped sink, fixing her lipstick in the mirror.

"Katniss!" She leaps up, and I assume this is as close to 'indisposed' as Effie is capable of being. She straightens her wig before focusing on my face. "Was it Haymitch? He really can be a brute, you know. You'll never believe how many times he's made me cry." I laugh, not because it's funny but because Capitol accents don't mix well with tones of melancholy. She wipes a tear off my face, which is probably the most caring gesture she's ever performed, and smiles. She places a hand on my back as she steers me out of the bathroom. Saving face, we exit through a private hallway that leads us out onto the train platform. I shiver in the cold, oceanic breeze and through the darkness see Haymitch stomping toward the train. I hop on before he has a chance to see me.

I hurry through the narrow corridor, stumbling as the alcohol reaches my bloodstream. I spin into my room and am ready to slam the door when I realize that the blue dress I was wearing earlier is missing. I had laid it out on the bed when I changed into evening clothes, and even locked the door. Was it Effie? Haymitch? One of my prep-team? In a rage, I'm checking under the bed and in the bathroom and behind the armchair and-

Peeta is in the doorway before I can pull open the top drawer, eyebrows raised. A huge purple bruise is forming over his swollen left eye. "What are you looking for?" He says quietly and with a tone of actual curiosity.

"M-my dress." I stammer. I'm itching to push him out the door.

"You know, we could get some bad publicity if they found out you were ditching your clothes in other people's rooms." A smile starts to play on his face as blood rushes to my cheeks.

"Other... people's?" Suddenly it's so incredibly obvious that we're in his room. It's clean. The window is left open. It even _smells_ just like him. Not the scents I associate with him, such as bread and muddy earth, but like his skin. It takes me back to the cave.

I duck under his arm, storming toward the next train-car in embarrassment. But as I'm sliding open the door I realize what a huge axe I have to grind with him and turn right back around.

"No, you know what, stop-" I roar, and when I reach him I poke him in the chest. "Stop this 'publicity' thing for one minute and be real with me. What happened to you? The boy I fought beside in the arena wasn't flighty or fake. He wasn't afraid of being honest. He certainly didn't need a surrogate to tell me how he felt. Is this how you and Haymitch spend your 'man time' together? Has he been giving you the altogether shitty advice to ignore me?" Peeta's mouth opens slightly as I inhale but I rush on. "And before you start on me about how I behaved in the arena, you should know that I was fighting for your survival as much as you were for mine. And in that cave, with all the pressure to please everyone, I was fighting then, too. And you made it too easy- I wasn't even acting. A girl can't fake those things. _'You have no idea, the effect you have on me'_."

This last part wasn't on the list of grievances I had compiled in my head, and it comes out sounding muted and sad, rather than mocking. Peeta lets out a long sigh and looks over my shoulder. I don't know how much of this is lost on him, but I don't stay to find out. With a lot less bravado I tromp back to my compartment and slam the door. I slip out of my sandals as I walk to the bed, peeling off my cardigan and dropping it next to the blue dress that had been here the whole time. I'm stupidly eager to cry this whole thing out because the day-and-a-half ride to District Three will give me enough time to melt down and recuperate without the presence of cameras. I hear the door quietly click open and try to hold it together for a few more moments.

"We're a match set," says Peeta and I turn around, confused. He points to my shoulder where a large and fearsome purple bruise has formed. "Haymitch punched me when I told him to lay off you. I would have done a lot worse to him had I known how badly you were hurt."

"I'm not hurt." I mumble lamely, turning back around to face the bed. He closes the door gently and walks behind me, wrapping his arms around me like he did all those months ago. He kisses my hair and now I'm crying like an idiot, letting him hold me. "You're so kind and patient and good to me. There just wasn't enough time in the arena to fall in love with you." I moan into his sweater between sobs. "I need you to keep being patient." He squeezes me tight as the train pulls out of the station.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Since publishing this story I have put <strong>_**way**_** too much effort into figuring out Mr. Hutcherson's "oh face"... and to much avail! I've added pictures to my profile! Still, I'd like you, dear readers, to send me pictures of J-Hutch screaming, because I'm still hung up on the Brendan Fraser thing. Additionally, I've added a comic that I drew about what really happened in the cave.**

**Also the stats for my story are hilaaaarious. Since posting, **_**over two thousand people**_** jacked off to my story! Well, I don't know, maybe some of you just sat alone at a cubicle in the basement of a library and only reacted by nodding every couple of lines. But I'm not here to judge.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I don't know about you, but I went to the midnight premiere dressed at Katniss! I will post pictures on my DeviantART account, which you all should check out (on my profile) because I've also drawn some THG comics. If you want more chapters, please review! I write more when I get reviews!**

I know what you're thinking, but we didn't _do_ anything last night. We spent the evening on the floor of my bathroom, leaning against the tub and chatting while I sobered up. Our conversation wasn't about anything important, just catching up. I asked questions about Portia and his prep team, but mostly let him talk when my stomach started to lurch. Peeta, with his strange ability to always know what I need, got an avox to bring salty crackers for me to munch on, and thankfully I didn't become sick. At some point we both fell asleep and when a bump in the tracks jolted us awake, we stumbled to my bed, peeling off the rest of our formalwear on the way. The slow, blissful still-drunken moments of watching him fall asleep as my eyelids grew heavy faded into dreams.

The next morning is blissfully free of both Effie and Haymitch because the schedule contains nothing but the continued transit to D3. Bright sunlight streams through the window onto my face and I squint around the messy room. Our clothes are still all over the floor and Peeta is sleeping soundly with a small smile on his face. Trying not to disturb whatever happy dream he's lost in, I slide out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom. On the counter is a tray with a cup of water and a painkiller on it, prudently left there by an avox. I don't take the pill because I surprisingly don't feel hungover, and instead just brush my teeth and take a hot shower. I dry off, wring out my hair in a towel, and slip into the white button-down shirt Peeta was wearing last night. I creep back into bed, taking care not to let warmth escape from under the covers.

I lie on my side, resting my chin on the back of my hand and allowing myself to really look into his face for the first time in months. Unlike mine, which seems to age with each hardship faced, his appears unchanged since even before the Reaping. I resist the urge to reach up and touch his cheek, to see if it's as soft and smooth as it appears. Matching my inhales to the steady rise and fall of his torso, it suddenly strikes me how content I am in this blithe, effortless moment. I place my hand on his chest, which is covered only by a thin white t-shirt. His heartbeat is strong and steady, two words which I already associate with him.

It's not a quiet morning, but I've grown used to the sounds of the train hurtling along the tracks and the wind as we slice through the air at two hundred miles per hour. Our tour would be a lot quicker if the districts- or the tour itself- was organized by proximity, but the technology district is the furthest north: far, far away from the south-eastern coastline of D4. Even with the frequent howl of the train's horn, Peeta continues sleeping.

I finally slide my hand up to his cheek and am surprised when he still doesn't wake. Back in the cave it seemed as though every gust of wind and animal noise pulled him from his dreams, causing him to hold me just a little closer. I'm shocked to realize how much I _want_ him to hold me close. And, as I scoot further under the covers, I allow the plush bed to roll my body nearer so that we are pressed together. I nuzzle my face into his chest-

And suddenly Effie is pushing the door open with her hip, a tray of food in her hands.

"Big big big," she sings, turning around, "I have brought us a _big_ breakfast to start off the day!" I scoot up as she's setting the tray on my dresser. Perhaps she hasn't yet noticed our intimate situation, but Peeta continues snoozing and I have half a mind to quickly cover him up with the blanket. But it's too late and Effie freezes, her carefully lipsticked mouth in a small "o" shape.

The cup of coffee she was in the process of pouring has now started to overflow and I leap out of bed, snapping Effie out of her trance and grabbing the cup out of her hands. I push her out into the hallway, shushing her along the way. I shut the door quietly behind us and look up into Effie's face with a big, guilty grin.

"This is not what it looks like." I say, but Effie, who's always up for gossip, is already speaking over me in her high-pitched voice.

"I should have bet money on you two making up today! Haymitch was being downright awful all last night and this morning and you know that's a sign. I brought us some breakfast so we could have some much-needed girl-time to prepare for the onslaught that I suppose you've just narrowly avoided!" And, because my goofy grin has probably morphed into a confused one, she babbles on. "Haymitch has a big dinner planned for this evening to try and sort everything out, but I suppose I should go tell him."

I grab her arm, "Nope, nope, we will tell him at dinner. I... don't know how permanent this situation is, anyway." My heart sinks as I vocalize the concern that I've been pushing into the back of my mind since waking. Effie's face- perhaps because of the plethora of plastic surgeries she's had- doesn't seem to change much, but she does pat me on the head in a kind way.

"Well, we'll be arriving in District 3 around 6, so we're having an early dinner at 4. For what it's worth, I hope you come as a couple." And then she's tottering down the hall toward the main train car. I quickly slip back into my room.

Peeta is sitting up and gingerly touching his black eye, but when I come in a big grin comes across his face. I jump back into bed with him, almost giddy with relief. "Well, I don't know how Cinna could dress you in anything more provocative than this," he says, taking in the skimpy dress-shirt-and-panties look.

In a moment of impetuousness, I lean over and kiss him full on the lips. I pull away, expecting only to have given him a peck, but his head moves with mine as if he hasn't gotten enough. I feel a shiver run through me, as if this was my very first kiss. "I miss you," I say quietly, kissing him again. He pulls me to him, snuggling us under the comforters.

"I was worried this was just a dream. It seemed so similar to the ones before." He pushes some hair off my forehead and I bask in the warmth of his big, warm hand. I hold it to my face, closing my eyes and thinking about him fantasizing about this very moment. I don't know why I hadn't before, because it's perfect.

"Do we have to get up? Can't we just lie here?"

And we do. Our morning is spent in much the same way as the night before, chatting about all the things we had missed from our time apart. Some topics are serious: when I ask him why he never tried mending our friendship he tells me that he thought that it, like our romance, was a farce. In his confusion and anger he retreated to the distance we kept in adolescence. And from afar he watched closely, much closer than before. He mentions how he liked certain dresses Cinna had put me in, ones that I don't remember from events I don't recall. He asks about times when he didn't understand an odd expression of mine, making mental notes to try and figure it out without asking me. To him I was a puzzle, something to work at diligently even if he had to stay away.

With chagrin I admit how I had instead tried hard to avoid thinking of him, how nothing he did ever seemed to make sense to me. I had pushed him to the back of my mind, dreading the moments when we'd be forced to speak. But here in this intimate moment I want him to know everything. It seems so sudden how the feelings of awkwardness and resentment melted away last night.

I look over at the clock; it's one in the afternoon. "We should probably get up," I whisper.

"No," he whispers back. I push my cold toes against his leg, causing him to jump. He grabs me, tickling me until I beg for air. Squirming out from his grasp, I jump on his back, koala-bearing him from behind.

"You dare fight me, Katniss Everdeen, 74th victor of The Hunger Games?" Halfway through I switch to a ridiculous Capitol accent. He hops out of bed with me still attached, running around the room and spinning. I pound his chest with my hands.

"Together we are unstoppable- victors unite!" He dumps me on the bed and before he can start tickling me again I try shakily standing up. I fall over even before my first bounce because the bed is too plush and I am laughing too hard. We collapse in a pile, breathing heavily. I feel for the first time in weeks that my frayed and frazzled emotions are back in check.

"You're my friend, too, you know." I say. "Not just my hunky boyfriend. We get along."

"I'm glad," he kisses me lightly. "Now, what are we going to do about Haymitch?"

...

I slide open the door to the dining cart, only to find that it's empty. "They aren't here yet." I say, and Peeta walks in behind me. He stopped by his room earlier to clean up and put on nice clothes, but I'm just in khaki shorts and a soft black sweater.

Peeta pulls out one of the chairs for me and I sit down. "I'm surprised Effie's not." He says, walking around the table to sit across from me.

"Do you think she's told him about this morning?" I start lifting the lids off of each dish, peeking inside like a child who's found her presents early. I'm surprised I can still hear what Peeta is saying over the sound of my stomach growling.

"Mayb-" He's cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Effie bursts through the door, followed by Haymitch- both look furious. I raise my eyebrows at Peeta.

"We are going to be _at least_ an hour late. Can't they just _fix _the train?" Effie mindlessly smoothes down her sequined green dress.

"What's wrong with the train?" Peeta and I ask in unison. We're both ignored as Haymitch lets out a sigh and begins to explain for what must be the hundredth time.

"The train is fine. The train is _perfect_, in fact, but not even the Capitol's finest will run without tracks." Haymitch pulls out a chair and sits down. He directs his next statement at Effie: "We've got a little more than an hour 'till we hit the gap, and you need to make up your mind about what we're going to do."

"Does District Three know one of their train lines has been compromised?"

"I would hope so, considering it's their citizens doing the 'compromising'!"

Peeta and I are looking from Effie to Haymitch, trying to piece together the conversation. Peeta figures it out first. "Is there rebel activity in D3?"

Effie finally takes her seat and the avoxes begin serving us. Suddenly I am very content to let Peeta ask all the questions, as my mouth is too busy sampling the food.

"Yes. It seems like late last night a group of dissenters ripped out a whole mile of tracks in protest of our arrival."

"Ripped out? How? Aren't the tracks electrified? Aren't they made from steel cable?"

"The ones surrounding the Capitol are..." Effie pauses, unsure of her answer.

Haymitch takes over; "These are much older and in disrepair. They're jointed rails, which can be easily disassembled. Honestly, if the Capitol were more concerned with efficient transport and less on militarized hovercrafts, we wouldn't be in this situation. District 6 is already dealing with unrest of its own."

"How haven't we heard about this?" Peeta asks in between spoonfuls of thick soup.

"It's being hushed up. Shortages are one thing-"

"-But derailments and lack of connectivity are another!" I interrupt while piling seconds onto my plate. I look over to Peeta, "Uprisings can be quelled with more peacekeepers, but not if the rail system is down. They can't let District 3 make an example for the rest of Panem."

"That's right," booms Haymitch. We all stop eating, sensing the fulcrum of the conversation. He picks up his knife and casually points it at me. "So tonight it's especially important for _all of us_ to play nice. Give the media something cute to spin, will ya?"

I scowl, sliding the crumbs around on my plate with my fork. It would be useless to fume about how essential it is that the citizens of Panem know about the rebel's clever new strategy. Effie would mindlessly disagree, Peeta already understands how I feel and Haymitch considers protecting ourselves from government scrutiny even more crucial. I keep my eyes downcast but nod my head. Peeta pokes me with his foot under the table and I look up. The avoxes have set out dessert: an assortment of tiny treats including chocolate covered strawberries and mini dishes of crème-brulée. I pick up a strawberry, eating it in several bites because it is so big and juicy. Next I try a little square of baklava, the honey oozing out the sides and the delicate filo sticking to my lips. I lick the crumbs off.

Suddenly it hits me that I'm not as angry anymore; as always I've been placated by a good meal. With one eyebrow raised I glance up at Peeta, knowing that dessert was a tactic to calm me down. Whatever. I lick the honey off of each of my fingers, keeping eye contact.

Keeping his focus on me, Peeta breaks the silence. "What time did you say we're getting to the city?"

"Well, if we loop around the district we can enter from the unbroken west line, but that could be another two hours from now," says Effie between sips of coffee. "_But _we could get there within the hour if a hovercraft picks us up from the dead-end."

"We don't need a hovercraft." Peeta and Haymitch say together. Haymitch is thankfully prepared to qualify his answer because I'm sliding my toes up Peeta's leg and he doesn't quite look capable. "It's excessive: coming in a hovercraft will only incite the media. Try getting comfortable with the idea of being _fashionably_ late." Haymitch pauses, scrutinizing Peeta. "Why do you ask?" Ugh, nothing gets past him.

"We need time to think of what we'll say to the press." I say.

"And then we should practice it." Peeta confirms. Haymitch's eyes narrow and I place my foot back on the floor, anxious that he can somehow sense it. I wonder if the desserts were aphrodisiacs because I'm suddenly very warm and I can feel my pulse between my legs. I'm dying to drag Peeta out of the train car with me but I don't know what to say. I look to Peeta then meaningfully at the door.

"Well... looks like dinner is over..." Peeta says. He pushes his chair out and stands up. "You should probably go and tell the conductor to take the long way around the district."

"I will." Haymitch's eyes narrow, looking from Peeta to me.

Effie pats her lipsticked mouth with her napkin and stands up. "See you two soon!"

"But not too soon," I say with a sly smile, sliding into the hallway with Peeta in tow.

We aren't even out into the hallway when his mouth meets mine. It is as passionate as it is desperate, but it doesn't satisfy me. My hands slide under his shirt, my fingers across his warm skin as his hands slip into the back pockets of my shorts. I'm soon gasping for air, and, reluctant to break the kiss, I push my body closer to his.

"What in the _hell_ was that all about?" Hamitch's voice rings out from inside the dining car. We dissolve into laugher and stumble down the hallway still giggling, me pulling Peeta along by his hand. The train makes a sudden turn, causing us to lose our balance and collide with both the carriage partition of the traincar and each other. This time we don't try and separate; our lips lock again and suddenly Peeta pushes me against the wall, pinning me from behind. He kisses my neck, his hand sliding down between my legs. Even through the thick fabric I'm already throbbing. Stealthily gyrating my hips, I can feel his hard-on with my butt.

_ I was already having a hard time keeping my thoughts straight when Katniss suddenly grinds against me, and I'm gone. Both hands are focused on unzipping her shorts and when finally I concentrate long enough to do that, I slip my right hand in. I catch her gasp as it leaves her mouth but she breaks the kiss, moaning as my finger pushes against her. With my other hand I reach up her sweater- to my surprise, my hand arrives at a bare boob._

_ "No bra tonight?" I whisper into her hair._

_ "Mnnmm," she slides her butt up and down against me, "Do you have a problem with that?"_

He pins me closer to the wall, palming my breast. The movement of his hand between my thighs has ceased and I'm aching for more; I spin around to face him and he lifts me so we're eye-to-eye and I can wrap my legs around his hips. I don't bother trying to cover my naked torso when he pulls my top over my head, tossing it on the floor.

"Your room is closer." I whisper against his mouth. I kick off my sandals in the hallway as Peeta slides open the door, locking it behind us. The bed is close and when he reaches it we fall in, never breaking apart. Peeta wastes no time in removing my shorts.

_ She looks up at me, pouting. "What about _your_ clothes?" She pushes me away with her foot on my chest, raising her eyebrows. I unbutton my shirt and peel off the white t under it. I grab her leg and plant kisses up it, stopping for a split-second when my mouth reaches the edge of her black lace panties. I slide them down and continue kissing; she writhes against me and becomes impossibly wetter. I press a finger into her as I suck her clit. Her skin flushes a rosy pink color and she cries out, almost at the brink of an orgasm. I move my mouth to her inner thigh, sucking and biting the skin so a hickey appears._

I almost can't hold it together with the thought and feeling of his mouth in such an intimate place. The way he almost hummed as he sucked my clit... these small vibrations nearly caused a climax. I lie back on the bed with my knees bent and legs slightly parted, panting and aching to be filled. Peeta is pulling off his pants and it strikes me how his muscles have hardened and how fit he looks. He's again on top of me and is pushing my legs apart as he crawls between them.

This is the same position we were in our very first time, only now instead of feeling the eyes of the Capitol raking over my body, I only feel Peeta's skin against mine. He enters me, never breaking eye contact. There is an urgency building in me as we fuck, slowly at first as he moves deep inside, making me feel every inch. I moan and lean my head back as we rock together; the rumble of the tracks is our friend, causing friction and concealing our voices.

I roll us over and crawl on top, letting my hair fall to cover my boobs. I place my hands on his chest and sit back, letting my breasts bounce as I move. He holds me by my ribs, his warm hands guiding my movements as I ride him, pulling me against his rock-hard dick. I close my eyes and moan, letting out a shaky breath. The deep, slow ache in me is growing, demanding to be satiated.

_ I grab her hands and our fingers lace together, our movements becoming fierce and almost aggressive. Her body starts to tighten around my cock, and I watch her as she nears climax. Her eyes are still closed and her eyebrows knit together._

_ "I'm... coming..." she cries out as her grip on my hands tighten. The tensing of her body and spasms from between her legs pull me to orgasm. _

I gulp deep breaths, allowing myself to relax before sliding off Peeta. I pull the sheets up to cover myself, chilled because of the open window. I lay back, snuggling into the soft covers. Laying here in his bed I feel surrounded by him, by his essence. How could I have missed it last night?

"We've got about an hour until we pull into the station. We should make sure we're camera-ready for the rest of Panem." He says this last bit with sarcasm and we laugh. I know that whatever slinky dress I end up in tonight won't matter: we will both look radiant with post-sex glow. I wonder what the media will think of that...

**Author's Note: OMG- I've been away for so long! This chapter has been almost complete since the THG premiere but there were a few parts that were tricky to write. Usually I drink a lot of good beer or get jacked up on Robitussin and then write a bunch, but it was hard to find time with finals approaching. Your reviews (even if they're just to remind me to write more) always help. I'm starting a FanFic about Johanna Mason soon because she's my favorite character- and that way I won't have to write so much of Katniss' food-porn narration :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: HEEEEY BIIITCHES! It turns out that a few of you sent me facebook messages awhile back, but since y'all weren't my FBfriends and facebook is weird, it puts all of the messages into a part of the inbox labeled "other". Sooo until I discovered this a couple days ago I actually didn't know any of you had sent me anything. If you still want to be my BFFEAEAE, send me a facebook friend request (and for the love of all things THG, please do not post weird shit on my timeline, I actually have a reputation of being half-normal).**

As soon as we step into the ballroom of the colossal District Three town hall, we are met by an enclosing wall of paparazzi. Peeta holds me tightly by the waist and with the help of the Peacekeepers, we slice through with only enough time to smile and answer a few banal questions. Of course, they all seem to be about my outfit.

Cinna's most recent creation- a tight metallic gown that is reminiscent of the technology that this district produces- hugs me tightly and doesn't allow for much bending. That being said, I'm sure nothing Peeta and I could have conjured up would have incited the media more than this seemingly simple dress. Thousands of hidden sequins reflect with the flashes of the cameras when we pass through, turning the folds of the fabric into the waves of a beautiful copper and gold ocean. The nerves that I normally feel before a big event like this are evermore present; I worry that the guests will notice that something has changed between Peeta and I... What would they make of the star-crossed lovers falling _even more_ in love? As we sit down at our table to wait for appetizers I lean over to Peeta and whisper it into his ear. "And what if they realize what was going on before?"

"They won't; they can't fathom it. But I'm sure they'll come up with countless stories about why you're finally in a genuine good mood." He lifts my chin and kisses me. "And we can read all about it in the tabloids tomorrow."

I make a face then sit back in my chair, taking in a deep breath. Even just leaning over for a conversation is pushing the wind out of me and I remind myself to take it easy. Of course, then the food arrives and I busy myself with an attempt to load as much of it into my belly without my dress bursting.

While pilling various cheeses onto my plate I notice a cluster of four men in black suits across the room, holding what appear to be walkie-talkies and clipboards. They're certainly not members of the paparazzi flown in from the Capitol, nor are they guests since this is a white-tie event..._ Why is there a security detail at a Victory Tour event in District 3? _I set down my plate of cheese and squirm out of my chair. The district major is taking his seat at the end of the long table and I mosey over to him, taking small steps due to my ridiculous heels. I introduce myself, glancing over his shoulder at the group of men while I shake his hand. One of them looks over with a bored expression before tuning back into whatever conversation he is having with the others. _So, the security isn't for me or for the mayor..._

"You also noticed the extra muscle they've got tonight?" says Peeta when I come back.

"Do you know who it's for? I always thought District 3 was poor like 12, and we always had Peacekeepers work security. Maybe it's for the riots."

"Maybe... but the rebels wouldn't break in here, it'd be too risky."

I don't respond, but the thought weighs heavily on me and I'm no longer able to taste my food. The group of men walks toward a darkened corner, exiting through a service door. Peeta follows my gaze just as the door swings shut behind them.

"You're planning on following them, right?" His tone is teasing, but then he kisses me on the forehead and stands up, taking my hand. "Well at least drag me along." We prowl the outskirts of the room, chatting with some guests before we arrive at the door. Peeta subtly leans against it, but it doesn't budge. I look over at the kitchen door a few feet down and he nods. We wait for the band to finish its song and slip through when everyone turns to applaud. Three avox girls are waiting inside, loading their trays. They pause when we enter and one of them lifts a finger and points lamely back at the door through which we entered. She shrugs when we hurry past them. We exit into a service hall that must connect up with the locked door, just in time to catch sight of one of the security men pulling up his zipper, a woman in a tight black dress on her knees in front of him. He lets out a muffled curse, yanking the girl up by her arms.

"Oh, sorry about that," says Peeta, holding up a hand in peace, "Great minds think alike." He chuckles convincingly and the man gives a rueful grin. He quickly pulls the girl down the hall in the opposite direction, turning only when he reaches the corner. Peeta must've anticipated this, because he grabs my butt and shoves me through the nearest door, which is thankfully unlocked. I stumble into the blackness, turning just as Peeta let's out another laugh and slips in with me.

"What was that?" I whisper, reaching out for him in the darkness.

"He said it was a good idea."

"No, not _that_. What are we doing? Where are we?" As I say this the faint smell of cleaning fluid and paint tell me we're in a supply closet.

"We're improvising," he says indignantly and I let out a low laugh. Peeta stifles it with a kiss. He runs his hands over the dress, feeling for a zipper. "How do you get this thing off?"

"Oh my gosh, are we actually doing this right now?" Disbelief mixes with vexation, and yet I'm turned on by his spontaneity and the danger of being caught. "Well... I don't know how to get it off, and I certainly don't know how to put it on again. There are laces in the back, but..." His hands are already there, and I push them back down to my waist. "Really, though, I wouldn't know how to get back into this." The little light from the crack in the doorway shines in his eyes.

"Well, I guess you have no choice but to leave it on." He kisses me and I run my hands through his hair. I'm finding it impossible to keep my balance in these heels, and I fall up against a wall, letting Peeta press me against it. I'm content with just this, but he's fumbling through the layers of the dress, his hands moving to my butt. He pulls up the fabric so his fingers can press into my bare skin. He begins kissing my neck again, and turns me around so I'm facing the wall. His hand wraps around my thigh, rubbing me through my lace panties. With his other hand he explores under the dress, my sheer thigh-highs held up by a garter belt that matches the black lace thong. With one finger he snaps the band from the garter and the sting of it turns me on even more. "Cinna really packaged you up tight tonight, didn't he?"

"Yeah, getting these off is going to be about as hard as getting the dress off." I'm cursing my styling team; they clearly thought I had the patience to make it back to the train tonight. The panties are under the belt, and if I remove that then my pantyhose will fall down. I huff as I try and think of a solution, turning around to face him in the darkness.

"We could always just leave them on...?" The charged silence after he says this has me imagining his face, how one of his eyebrows would raise and a smile would play on his lips. Because I can't stand imagining any more, I reach out to for him in the darkness, and my fingers feel the soft fabric of his pants rather than his hand. I go with it, rubbing him though the thick wool cloth. Unlike my dress, the zipper is easy to find and I pull it down, letting Peeta's firm cock free. Peeta leans in to kiss me, but I focus on my technique, pressing my thumb along the bottom and swirling it around the top. With my left I press Peeta's hand up against my thigh. I want him to reach back between my legs, so he can feel the wetness that is sliding down them. Peeta moans as I spend a little too long rubbing the head of his dick, and pressure builds in me as I think about how far ahead he is. He must know this, because he turns me around again, shoving me up against the wall. With one hand he pulls up the layers of the dress, and I feel his hardness against my butt. He pulls aside the fabric of my panties and I arch my back so he can find my opening. His fingers flutter near my clit, and he presses one into me.

"You're so tight." He whispers into my hair, his voice low and gravelly. "Spread your legs." Before I can, he puts a foot between my legs and pushes them apart with one of his own. He slips another finger in. He guides himself closer, until he slips his cock into me from behind. His hand pushes down on the small of my back, and since I'm wearing sky-high heels, my ass is up in the air. Like this, with my forearms against the wall to prevent me from falling over, I allow him to go deeper than ever before. I feel him at my core; feel my body stretching in ways I never thought possible.

A moan rises in my throat, and he reaches his hand around to cover my mouth. "Shhh, one security guard knowing we're in here is enough," he whispers against my neck. I bite down on one of his fingers instead then suck until he lets go.

The friction has already warmed the room, but the heat between my legs continues to grow and it gets harder and harder not to cry out. I can feel the soft skin of my butt chafing against his pants and I reach down to push it away, but Peeta grabs my hand and pins it back to the wall. "Oh my gosh, what are you doing?" I gasp.

His warm breath condensates on the side of my face and ear: "Improvising".

Our quick inhales echo in the tiny room, and the fumes from the cleaning products have me almost to heaven. Peeta knows just how to push me over the edge and he starts kissing my neck, his other hand back between my legs. I break out in a cold sweat, and arch my back to take in more of his warmth. I know he's close too because his thrusts become more deliberate, and when I hear his breath catch in his throat I let myself go as well, trying to keep my legs from giving out as I tighten around him, savoring the white-hot pulses of pleasure at my core, that aching fullness between my legs.

He pulls out just in time, emptying his load on the back of my thighs and my butt. I try to catch my breath, slouching up against the wall and letting the dress slide down my sticky back. Peeta leans in for a kiss, lingering for a moment. I hear him zip his fly.

"Let me make sure the coast is clear." He whispers, and I know it's accompanied by a wink. I tiptoe up behind him, peeking around his shoulder as he quietly cracks open the door.

But suddenly it's not a charade anymore, because just outside the door a tight, quick moving group of people scurries through the hall. I catch sight of a wisp of white hair and the smell of roses... _President Snow, here in District 3? _I feel the panic build in my belly, and suddenly the closet seems far too cramped and enclosed. Holding my breath, I silently pray that the group will carry on by the closet. _Fifteen feet, ten feet, five feet... _I involuntarily draw in a sharp breath, and to my horror President Snow and his security detail stop walking.

**Author's Note: ****_Oh my good gracious_****, you're probably thinking****_, what will happen to our wily heroine and her hunky boyfriend? They're going to need a lot of moxie to get out of this jam!_**** No, but seriously, I have no idea. The storyline has pretty much become about nymphomania getting in the way of Detective Everdeen's super sleuthing. It's like some perverted version of Harriet the Spy... jeez... I'm having a hard time creating more plot to balance the hot, hot dickings. And in all honesty, 80-something people subscribe to this smut, and I know not all of you have lives. So take two minutes, lick the Cheetos dust of your fat little fingers, and leave a review. You disgust me.**


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